


Going On

by Onehelluvapilot



Series: Knights and Hunters [1]
Category: Merlin (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Hunters & Hunting, Late Night Conversations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot
Summary: After a hunt, Gwaine and Lancelot discuss their life and all that comes with it.





	Going On

**Author's Note:**

> This might be the beginning of something. I don't know. My favorite thing about Supernatural is the world it creates that one can stick other characters into. And these two men were my favorite thing about Merlin (why did they both have to die?). The match seemed natural.

“Have I ever told you how unbelievably hot you look rescuing little kids from monsters?” Gwaine said as Lancelot practically collapses into their pickup’s passenger seat. He was bruised and bloody and seriously considering chopping off the rest of his constantly-in-the-way hair with the machete that lay by his steel-toed boots in the footwell. He didn’t feel particularly attractive.

“I’m not in the mood,” the former military man practically growled back. He watched out the window as they drove off, red and blue lights flashing behind them. Never a bad idea to put a some distance between themselves and a body.

“What’s wrong? We got the job done, didn't we? One less monster in the world.”

“We killed that little girl’s dad in front of her,” Lance countered. Gwaine wisely didn’t reply, just drove. They passed the last traffic light in town, and shortly after that the last streetlamp, until it was just their headlights under the moonlight. Lance leaned against the window, and didn’t move or say anything for so many miles that the driver nudged his leg.

“Hey, you still alive?”

“Just tired.” His exhaustion was clear in his voice.

“How’s your head?”

“It’s fine. Your arm?”

“Hurts like a sonofabitch, but it’s stopped bleeding and I don’t think it’ll need stitches.”

“Good; I’m tired of sewing.” The conversation, if it could be called that, lapsed until Lancelot revived it with an annoyed sigh. “Hell, I'm tired of just about everything in this life. I’m sick of the long hours, cheap motels, and shitty food. And I’m so tired of the constant death. I hate killing people, and I hate people dying.”

“Weren’t you in the army?”

“That was different. I wasn't alone then.”

“You aren't alone now.”

“I didn't mean you. No offense, but one man with an admittedly large number of guns who sleeps in the back of a truck more often than not doesn't really compare to having the entire might of the United States Army at my back. Barely anyone even knows what we do.”

“So you're in it for the glory?”

“Piss off Gwaine. You know what I meant. It's just lonely. There's no end to it either. Not that it ever looked like we as a whole would be getting out of Iraq anytime soon, but at least I knew that if I served my tour I could go home if I was still alive. This doesn't have an end, except that final one. I can't go home from this.”

“There are some things I imagine are better about it though too, right?” Gwaine asked. “ You have more independence, and you make more of a difference this way.”

“It doesn't really seem like that. I became a hunter so I could prevent what happened and what almost happened to my sister from happening to anyone else.” The other hunter knew that wasn’t supposed to be a jab at him, but it still stung. He tried to just be amazed that Lancelot had even forgiven him for killing his brother in law. “And I know this is probably just frustration talking, but it feels like we lose more than we win. That we get nothing but scars and liver disease to show for it all.”

They drove for a few miles as Gwaine tried to come up with a gentle way to say what he needed to. He was not a delicate man by nature, nor a particularly eloquent one, and eventually he gave up.

“This is going to sound real shitty,” he prefaced it instead, “but if we stopped all monster attacks, there wouldn’t be any new hunters. We can’t prevent everything bad happening to everyone. We try our best, and sometimes it’s enough. Sometimes it isn’t. I don't know. I'm probably not the best person to talk to. I got into this life so early that it's all I've really known.”

“Does this seem normal to you?” Lancelot asked, not quite able to keep all the shock out of his voice.

“Well, kind of. I mean, I know most people don't live like this, but I can't imagine living in the houses of the people I save, in their quote unquote normal lives. I went from fifteen to hunter in a matter of months. Must be weirder for you, having actually lived before you killed. Me, I barely knew what I was destroying.”

“Lucky you.”

“Yeah, well. One of these days I'll take you to the Roadhouse, to meet some other hunters. A lot of them are exmilitary; they'd probably be better than me to talk to. For now, let's just find a decent hotel. Hot showers always make me feel better.”

“Can we afford that?” Lancelot worried. 

“Stop worrying about the money. I can get us money. And I’m not sleeping in the back of the truck tonight. I thought we agreed. After a hunt, we splurge on a hotel. If this is your freaking martyr I-don’t-deserve-nice-things complex, then you can sleep in the truck in the motel parking lot, but I'm getting a bed, and I'd be happier if you'd join me in it.”

Lancelot didn't say anything, but they both knew he couldn't refuse Gwaine. When a glowing bright light up sign loomed into view, they slowed down to pull into the little parking lot. They cleaned their guns, took a shower to wash off the blood, together, because they weren't sure how long the hot water would last, and crawled into the double bed whose comforter scratched their bare skin. Exhaustion dragged Lancelot’s head down against the shoulder of the man still too high on adrenaline to sleep. He'd keep watch for the night. Tomorrow he'd doze off in the car as they drove to the inevitable next hunt.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it, drop a comment. Might make the next one go easier. Thanks for reading!


End file.
